Penalty Box
by RyderBPD
Summary: *#2* of the Beantown to Big Apple series. Things get rough and dirty in the land of the Bruins after Liz and Flack catch a hockey game together. Rated M for the two S's: Swearing and Sex.


**Aut****h****or's Note**: I know I should be working on Injection Site, but Liz and Flack have insisted that I put this story to paper so as to complete their history. And as you all know, when the Doctor and the Detective speak, I listen!

This story takes place in December of 2007, nine months after our heroes met. More so than any of my other pieces, the M rating is **well deserved**. This time, Beantown + The Big Apple= D-I-R-T-Y.

Hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer**: Don Flack is sadly the property of CBS, Zuiker, Bruckheimer, and all those other folks that don't have nearly as much fun with him as I would. :)

Liz Ryder, on the other hand, belongs to yours truly.

Penalty Box

Silence reigns over the cozy New England living room as snow begins to fall on Lawrence Street. My green eyes bore into the TV flickering only a few feet away, its screen providing the only light in the dark room. Suddenly, a heavy Queens accent bursts through the air and shatters the stillness:

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! Go! Get there, get there! ARGH! Dammit, Drurs, what the hell? That was yours!"

I smirk and pretend to get lost in thought. "Gee whiz, Don-one more blown chance. That's what, eight this period? Time's a tickin', my friend. Otherwise your boys are leavin' TD Garden with another big fat L."

"Shut up, Ryder," Flack glowers, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "You should be worried about that raggedy-ass defense that's lettin' all those chances through." Those thick black eyebrows are knotted in frustration, while his usually laughing blue eyes have turned to steel. Nothing gets under Detective Donald Flack Junior's skin like his beloved Rangers taking a nosedive. Well, that's not entirely true. Over the last nine months I've discovered a few other things that can get his blood going. . .but they generally result in moans of pleasure rather than screams of fury.

Yep, a bottle of wine and a few pointed sports barbs is usually all it takes to get Flack riled up and into bed with me. That and the occasional new piece of lingerie. He's an incredible lover—attentive yet commanding, more than a worthy challenger for dominance between my sheets. Rarely has a man made me feel sexier in bed than Don; _the way he looks at me while he's on top never fails to get me off_, I think to myself.

But two professionals living in two very different East Coast cities does not a real relationship make, and so any initial thoughts I've had of seeing into Flack's heart have been swept aside. Not without difficulty, though.

No, for now what we have is just sex and sports. I'm one of the boys to him—except for the added benefits of having both a great rack and a pussy usually willing to respond when he comes calling.

Turning my attention back to the game, I note how tense my friend with benefits really is. His being pissed off isn't unusual when his boys in blue are losing, but he seems even more on edge than normal. _Uh-oh,_ I muse. _He keeps this up and I bet I won't hit it tonight. _I stop short of willing New York to make a comeback, though. _Not interested in committing sports blasphemy just for a lay, thank you very much_.

The second period comes to an end and my B's have maintained a solid 3-0 lead. I get up from the couch, go into the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge. "Want anything?" I call. "No," he responds in a clipped fashion. I roll my eyes and open my Sam by whacking it against the counter. He jumps a little at the noise, and I take the opportunity for another dig. "Whassamatter, Don? Sound too much like my boys blowing another shot past your favorite Swede?"

"Whatever," he grunts, shaking his head and setting his jaw.

Returning to the den, I put my beer down on the coffee table and sit back on the sofa, facing him. "Don, are you all right?"

"Tryin' to practice your shrink skills off the clock, Ryder? I'm fine."

"O-okay," I say, the tone in my voice betraying my thoughts about the veracity of his statement. "I'll be on this end of the couch if you feel like manning up."

"You redheads," he mutters. "All the damn same."

My eyes widen and I throw an edge into my voice. "I'm sorry—_what_ did you say?"

For a split second, his face softens and he looks like he's been caught with contraband. But it doesn't last long, and he immediately launches back into childish defiance. "Nothin'. Just watch the third."

Now it's my turn to seethe internally. Whatever he's talking about is enough to throw me off my game-watching groove, and I barely register any emotion when Avery slips a shot through Timmy's 5-hole. My head spins with angry questions and confusion:

"_All you redheads are the same"? What the fuck does that mean? Who's the other redhead (or red__heads__, I guess; there could be legions of 'em lining up by his bed in NY for all I know. Why do I even care? It's not like we're dating or anything. He's just a hot cop I like to talk stats with and fuck when I feel like it. Right? RIGHT? _

The game ends with a score of 3-1 and ESPN switches to SportsCenter. But my usual victory celebration is replaced with stony-faced silence. _I'm not gonna be that girl_, I tell myself. _There is no fuckin' way I'm gonna turn to him right now, pour on the jealousy and whine 'Who is she?' while he sits there and shrugs. I got enough on my plate right now with Case out of a job and Mom getting worse. I don't need this bullshit. _

"You driving back tonight?" My harsh words knife through the tense air between us. He looks surprised and falters for a moment before putting his mask back on:

"I thought you'd want me to stay."

"You don't really seem like you wanna be here right now, Don."

"I came all the way up here, didn't I? Why would I have done that if I didn't wanna see you?" His deep voice is bordering on petulant now and I've had enough of it.

"You tell me, _Detective._ I'm just the one gettin' in some off-duty couch hours in, right? I mean, what the fuck are you doing here if you're just gonna come into my house, drink my beer and act like an asshole the whole night?"

He stands up from the red sofa and glares down at me from his tall frame. "You got some real balls there, Doc, talkin' to me like that."

I jump up beside him and before I know it I've grabbed a fistful of his waffle-knit shirt. "Well, that's the way we roll up North, Flack," I hiss. "Whatcha gonna do about it? Or does the big city D.T. not know what to do with a real live Masshole up in his face?"

Flack sucks in a quick breath and I can tell I've hit a nerve. His face changes and he reaches down to his shirt, ripping my hand from the fabric. Suddenly he's pinned my arms behind my back and drawn me into his chest. "I know _exactly_ what to do with you tonight, Ryder," he growls.

And then the battle begins.

He forces his mouth onto mine with commanding intensity, completely consuming my lips with his own. I'm so turned on by the sudden change in power dynamics that I want to give in and kiss back, but I can't let him win. I wrench my head from his, struggling against his strong hands around my wrists.

"Get back here," he orders, and in the wake of his words I can feel my pussy soak the pair of black panties I'm wearing.

"Uh-uh," I refuse. He has to choose now: either free up one of my hands so he can grab my face or let my mouth go unclaimed. I seize the beat he takes to make his decision and act. Diving towards his mouth, I sink my teeth into his big, gorgeous bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. "OWCH!" he shouts, and in surprise one of his hands flies from my wrist to the spot I've bitten.

That's all the window I need. Yanking my other wrist from his hand, I push his chest as hard as I can and knock him flat onto the couch. I straddle his lap and plunge one hand into his hair as the other immediately shoots down his pants and grabs his shaft. I kiss him my way, pushing my tongue between his lips as I run my fingers up and down the impressive length of his hard-on.

Eventually he manages to regain a little control and pulls away from my mouth. "You crazy quack," he gasps. I'd be insulted if he wasn't visibly loving every second of my hand job. "I can't believe you bit me. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"That's how I deal with men who need to be put in their place," I respond before nipping at his left ear.

"Put in my place, huh? Put in my place. That's a damned good idea. Let me show you _your_ place, you cocky little Bear Cub-lovin' brat."

So saying, Flack yanks my hand out of his pants and grips my wrist even harder this time. I slap at him with my free hand, but he catches it deftly and brings both of my arms up over my head. Still clutching my wrists, he pushes me off his lap and onto the floor with a hard thump. Taking special care to avoid my now-kicking feet, he follows my body down to the floor and squeezes my legs between his own. My wrists are being held to the floor and I'm trapped beneath his rock-hard cock and the muscular quads on either side of it.

I'd be scared. . .but I'm getting wet beyond belief at our rough foreplay. And I wasn't one of Boston's finest for nothing.

So I'll let him think he's got the upper hand for a few minutes. "Congratulations, you Yanks-lovin' son of a bitch," I curse, struggling a little for dramatic effect. "You pinned a woman who weighs fifty pounds less than you do. Whaddya want, a fuckin' award?"

Flack doesn't answer right away, but instead crashes into my neck and starts sucking the skin until it burns. "I asked you a question, jackass," I grunt, trying not to give in and yelp at the painful marks he's covering me with.

"You're in no position to give orders, Ryder. And the award you're talkin' about? It's gonna be for makin' you scream my name the most times while I fuck the ever-lovin' shit out of you."

He's using his teeth instead of his lips now, and on top of that has started grinding his cock against my pelvis. My clit throbs at the contact and I have to force myself not to close my eyes in rapture. Nope, it's time to seize power again.

In the middle of another one of his vampire-like bites, I suddenly bring my legs up and wrap them around his broad chest—a move I have a runner's flexibility to thank for. I yank his body towards the floor as hard as I can, causing his arms to release my wrists as he goes. Quickly I flip us so that I'm sitting on his back and then lean over, slapping him hard upside the head.

"I don't think so, you arrogant bastard. You gotta catch me before you can fuck me."

I sprint out of the room and into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the glass of the microwave as I go. My fire-engine red hair is mussed and there's a glint of insanity in my eyes. The simple white v-neck t-shirt clinging to my chest is wrinkled, and I think to myself, _hmm. Maybe that means it needs to come off. _

So as I turn towards the kitchen doorway to see Flack come stalking in after me, I reach down to the tee's hem and yank it up over my head. My bra comes off as well, and my hard nipples get even stiffer as they meet the cold air. Maybe the sight of my rack'll slow him down a little. But he just keeps coming, responding by grabbing his own shirt and ripping it off before throwing it on the floor.

We stand there for a second, staring into each other's eyes and breathing hard. His body is as hot as ever, his ripped muscles highlighted by the streetlight beam cutting in through the kitchen window. Those oceanic eyes are gleaming with lust, and the blood I brought forth with my teeth earlier is still staining his bottom lip. He speaks to me then in a matter-of-fact voice.

"I'm gonna fuck you 'til you're beggin' me for more, Ryder. Turn around."

I laugh crazily then, the sound ricocheting through my dark kitchen. "You should take that shit on tour, Flack. That's the damned funniest thing I've heard all night."

"Make this easy on yourself, Liz. Bend over. Now."

"You don't seem to have your orders straight, Don. First it's 'turn around,' then 'bend over.' You know what we call that in the shrink world? Conflicted power use. Classic when it comes to overworked cops who don't know what they want."

This seems to strike at the very fiber of his being, for he reaches out and grabs the waistband of my jeans. I can see his hard bicep flex as he first yanks me up against his bare chest, then slams me up against the fridge. Once again his lips come crashing down on mine, and this time I can't keep myself from denying that I want it. But I can make things a little painful for him while he works.

As his big hands roughly unbutton and then tear down my jeans, I begin to claw at his back. Over and over again I rip into his skin, feeling blood beneath my fingernails. I can feel his cock swelling and pressing against my now-bare thigh as I scratch again and he grunts in sexed-up pain once more. He breaks from my skin for a second, just long enough to utter an order:

"Take my pants off. Do it."

I stare back into his eyes and scoff. "Take your own fuckin' pants off, Flack. You want it so much then you take care of it."

He presses me further into the cold metal of the fridge and then licks my nipples, producing a loud hiss in response. "You want it just as bad as I do, Doc—and you know it. I promise, baby. . .you take my pants off and I'll put my dick exactly where you want it to go."

"You mean you'll put it in your car and drive your jerk ass home?" I snipe even as I begin to drip thinking about his cock inside me.

He shakes his head and sighs. "So we're gonna do this the hard way, huh?"

"If you think you can keep it hard enough to give my pussy what it needs."

"It's not about what you need tonight, Liz. It's about what you know you want."

"Prove it, you smug piece of shit. I don't believe for a second that you've got it in you to fuck me until I scream."

At once my back is ripped from the cool fridge and I'm being carried across the kitchen. I take advantage of the trip to lean towards his chest and bite those full, pink nipples, sucking until he almost drops me. When he gets to the other side of the room he sweeps everything off my kitchen table with a powerful arm. Glass shatters everywhere as he pushes my body onto the table and uses me to clear off the last few things.

I try to sit up and take his pants off, but he puts his hands on my tits and shoves me back down again. "Uh-uh. You said you wouldn't, so now I'm gonna do it on my own." As usual, though, I don't obey. I reach out with my long legs and try to hook my toes through his belt loops. He slaps my feet hard and chides me disgustedly: "You never listen, do you?"

Once his pants and boxers have hit the floor, he brings his mouth to my stomach and grabs my underwear in his teeth. He tears it down with force—or he would have, anyway, if I hadn't suddenly squeezed my legs together and blocked him from pulling them off. One of his big hands finds each inside thigh then and he digs his nails into the sensitive skin leading up to my pussy. I squeal in pain and give in, spreading my legs for him. He makes quick work of ripping my underwear off and then lifts one of my hamstrings up over his shoulder.

Truth be told, I'm so wet and ready to shove him between my legs. But I can't resist getting him back for the searing scratches he just put into my adductors. So I reach out and violently sink my nails into his abs, ripping as hard as I can. As his face contorts in pain I smile evilly. "Well, Flack, you wanted me like this—and now you got me. Let's see if you really can fuck me until I beg. Personally, I don't think you're up for it tonight. That New York dick of yours is never gonna give me what I need."

"We'll see about that," he says without a hint of a smile on his face—and then with no warning he suddenly rams his cock between my legs as hard as he can. God, he feels so good filling up my pussy. . .but of course I can't tell him that. "That all you got, Detective?" I manage to retort. "Wake me up when you're done."

"You know you like it," he says, looking down at me while he starts thrusting harder. "Start playing with your tits."

His cock sliding in and out of my tight, wet pussy is the best thing I've felt in a long damn time. "Why? You worried you can't get me off by yourself?"

"Nah," he responds, starting to breathe heavily. "It's so you don't hurt yourself with your arms when I make your body start to shake. You're gonna come so hard for me we're gonna break this fuckin' table."

"I paid good money for this table, dickhead."

"Bought with BPD green? Can't be that good, you Boston bitch."

His last words cross the thin line from hot to hurtful. I pull him out of me, jolt upright from the table and slap him hard across the face. "I'll let it go the first time," I utter in a dangerously calm voice. "You call me a bitch ever again and the bottom of the Charles is gonna be your new address."

He holds his face in his hands and shakes his head vigorously, as if being woken up from a dream. "Oh, shit. Jesus, Liz. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay," I say, even as I bite back a few tears. I've never heard Flack speak about women that way. In fact, the man I thought I knew would probably deck someone else for using that word to a woman's face before he'd ever utter it himself. _There must be something really eating at him if he's angry enough to do that._

"No. No, it's not okay, Red," he says, reaching out and stroking my face. "Are you all right?" In the wake of the question he begins to lightly trail his fingertips over every inch of my skin, caressing the scratches and scars left behind by the living room floor, the fridge, the broken glass on the table.

I close my eyes at his light touches and sigh. "Yeah, I'm okay," I whisper. "But what's goin' on with you, Don?"

He pulls me into his lap and then rests his bare back against one of my maple kitchen chairs. The position reminds me of the first time we had sex, back in March on his couch in Queens. I lightly kiss the spot where my hand met his face and then place my head on his shoulder. "Tell me what's bugging you."

I can feel Flack's familiar grin spread across his face as he scoffs.

"Betcha you've never started a therapy session like this before, Doc."

"The best quacks are ready for head-shrinkin' anytime, Don. Now spill it."

His big chest expands beneath my body and then suddenly shoves all of the air from his lungs once more. "It's Mess. Or more accurately, it's Mess _in_ a mess."

"Nice one, Detective."

"Like you're above crackin' the groaners. Anyway, last week Messer was walkin' home with one of his neighbors—this kid Ruben he's been lookin' after. Single mom, y'know the drill. Danny hears a shot down the street at a bodega and tells the kid to scram on home. Turns out, though, that Ruben got plugged on his bike in the crossfire. Little guy never made it more than a coupla blocks."

"Aw, that's horrible," I offer, my face contorting into a pained expression. I don't care what anybody says; as a cop, you never get over seeing a dead kid. "But I get the feeling there's more."

He sighs again and nods. One of his big hands comes up to the back of my head and lightly strokes my hair. "Ruben's mom Rikki figured out who we were holdin' for the shooting. Perp's name was Ollie Barnes, but it turned out he didn't kill the kid. Robbed the bodega, but didn't kill the kid."

He brings his free hand up to his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if he doesn't really believe what he's about to tell me.

"So Ruben's mom steals Danno's gun and takes off to go find Barnes. I'll spare ya the details, but basically Messer and I split up and try to head her off. We all end up in this damn alley, and Mess gets in front of Rikki while she's pointin' the gun at Ollie. Almost beat the crap outta Barnes too after the shmuck made a crack about Rikki bein' crazy."

"Jesus. Mess doin' okay now?"

"Hard to tell. You know he's an emotional guy, but he's good at shuttin' people out too. I told him he's gotta let it go—gotta stop blamin' himself for the kid's death. It wasn't his fault."

"True. But it sounds like Messer really liked this kid. And Ruben was in Danny's custody when the shooting happened. That kind of guilt is overwhelming, Don. The seconds leading up to the traumatic event are played over and over in your mind when you're consumed that way. Wishing you'd done something different, said something different—that you hadn't been on that street corner at that exact moment."

"I know. Believe me, I wanna help Mess get through this. I guess I'm just pissed at him for the way he handled the whole thing. I mean, in addition to lettin' his piece go stolen for four hours without reporting it, he wouldn't take Rikki in right away. Had to threaten him with doin' it myself, and even then he only brought her to PD at the last minute."

"Well, just keep an eye on him," I urge. "And tell him he can always talk to me if he needs to."

"Will do. I'm really, really sorry, Liz. I didn't mean what I said back there. Dunno what came over me."

"I appreciate it. That was some pretty rough stuff we had goin' on there, so I understand. Just don't ever do it again."

I clear my throat and continue. "What else, Flack?"

He gives me a quizzical look. "What're ya talkin' about?"

"Don, I'm not an idiot, ok? Give me and my head doc degree a little credit here."

"Too smart for your own damn good, Liz. Ya got me. That mature little redhead crack I gave ya earlier was about this chick Devon I was messin' around with a couple months ago. Lookin' back at it, I'm not even sure why I was hookin' up with her. Nice body, yeah—but not that hot."

"Always a good thing to tell a naked woman on your lap—that a chick you were with before wasn't that hot."

He grins and playfully flicks my forehead. "She ended up bein' a real snob. Her apartment got broken into during one of our, uh, 'dates' and she seemed more into the press hangin' around her place than—oh, say, bein' scared for her life."

"Damn, sounds like a real winner. Thanks for stickin' me in the same class as her."

Don winces and nods. "Yeah, sorry about that. Just frustrated that she ended up bein' such a bi—witch."

I laugh and kiss his cheek. "All I said was that you couldn't call me a bitch again. Sounds like that one deserves the title in this case."

He nods in agreement, a disgusted look on his face.

"Speakin' of titles," he begins again, his voice dropping to a sexy deep pitch, "how 'bout I make up for my mistake by gettin' you to say my name a few times?"

"Hmmm, I dunno," I muse, secretly melting inside as his big hands position my body such that I'm straddling his hips. "Only a few? I think the word 'bitch' is worth getting off at least four times."

He raises his eyebrows and smiles. "You drive a hard bargain, Ryder. Good thing my tongue's warmed up. Ya promise not to bite it?"

"Yeah, okay-I deserved that one," I acknowledge. "Just call me 'Fangs' from now on."

"Nah," he says, shaking his head. "Not worth it. Just like all your pathetic little Boston teams, your bark is worse than your bite."

"Ugh, that was bad. Stop talking and c'mere before you dry me up with another stupid joke."

"Can't argue with Doctor's orders," he says, and pulls my lips down to his own.

It's ecstasy kissing that big, beautiful mouth the way it was meant to be kissed: slow, wet and long. But even as he slips his tongue between my lips and his hands begin to move towards my breasts, I can't help but think about our conversation. Not about what he told me, but what he didn't tell me.

I saw something flash in those twin pools of blue when he was describing Messer bringing Rikki into PD. Something to indicate that even through the pain and frustration of Danny's screw-ups, there was something—or someone—that lightened Flack's load for a moment. Whoever she is, she broke right through Don's tough exterior, and I gotta give her props for that.

Part of me wants to pull away at the realization that this'll probably be our last time sleeping together. I want him to be happy, and my guess is that being happy is gonna mean staying in New York more often—getting to know her better and to let her into his heart. But it won't do to have anger-fueled foreplay serve as the last physical contact Flack and I ever have.

So I relax and give in to the gorgeous man beneath my body. He moves his mouth from my lips down to my nipples, and the light sucking that ensues is enough to make me forget everything else.

The hours that follow are filled with heavy breaths, long kisses, rocking hips, wet thighs—and yes, Don's name gasped into the night over and over again.

I know that when he leaves in the morning nothing will ever be the same between us again. But the friendship that will form as the scars from tonight's wild ride heal is something I feel will be stronger than either of us can currently fathom.

Sometimes a trip to the penalty box is all you need to get your head back in the game.


End file.
